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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25180687">feeling small, feeling ordinary</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackberry_jam/pseuds/blackberry_jam'>blackberry_jam</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Umbrella Academy (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Could be considered canon compliant, Pre-Canon, Vanya is a good sibling even when her siblings aren’t, title from maya hawke’s ‘breaking me down’</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 07:20:41</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,269</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25180687</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackberry_jam/pseuds/blackberry_jam</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>But, beside all this, beside the scathing looks and the hundreds of times she’s been ignored, she still cares about them, so with a resigned sigh she makes her way down to the kitchen.</p><p>Or,</p><p>Vanya Hargreeves still loves her siblings, even if they don’t all love her.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Vanya Hargreeves &amp; Everyone</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>241</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>feeling small, feeling ordinary</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>So, this has been sitting around for a while and I thought I should finish it up. </p><p>(Edit: for those just joining us (or who have been around for a while) the title has changed from ‘extra ordinary’ to ‘feeling small, feeling ordinary’ which (coincidentally) is from Maya Hawke’s ‘Breaking me Down’)</p><p> </p><p>Enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>On days when the mission alert blares, Vanya pulls out her violin, trying in vain to drown it out. She’s pretty sure they all hate going on them, but that just makes it worse. They despise what Vanya desperately wished she could have.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So when the house is filled with shouts of “has anyone seen my mask?” or “what happened to my shoe?”, she locks herself away, shutting the door and trying to one up the deafening alarm. Because, maybe if she can’t hear it then it’s not real.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But it is, it’s always real.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So, when they’ve all left, shipped off in their fathers shiny black car, she puts away her violin and goes down stairs to find her mother. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When their father is out, her mother lets her do more than normal. Sometimes she’ll help bake cookies or just trail around after Grace as she does the dusting rounds. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Today, though, she just sits beside her, in the painting hall, as she pulls the needle through, and through the fabric circle.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mum,” she begins, after they’ve sat in silence, her eyes on the hypnotic rhythm of the needle and thread, “when so you think they’ll all be back?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Grace pauses her quiet humming, “I’m sure they’ll be back soon, sweetie.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Vanya nods, slowly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Grace puts her cross stitch down, placing it on the leather sofa. “How about we get started on dinner?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay.” Vanya said, thankful for the distraction.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But they’re not back by dinner time, so Vanya eats by herself, poking listlessly at the pieces of chicken schnitzel and limp green beans on her plate as one of Luther’s records plays in the background. Her mother had moved off to some other part of the house, leaving Vanya alone. Just before dinner, she had gone up to Luther’s room, searching through his record collection for something she can play over dinner. It’s sort of her tradition to borrow his ‘Tiffany’ record and play it when dad can’t hear. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Maybe if they were closer, she wouldn’t have to sneak around to do it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She sighed, reaching into her pocket to pull out her tube of pills, quickly dry swallowing one, before turning back to her plate.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Normally, they’d have time after dinner to sit around in either the library or one of the lounge rooms, before getting into bed before nine, for a strict nine thirty lights out, but since the missions still going, she doesn’t know when they’ll be home, but she does know that they’ll be grumpy and tired. And when they’re grumpy and tired, they snap at her. At useless number seven.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her mum would let her stay up, until they all got home. Because even though they snap at her, and leave her out of everything, they’re still her siblings, and she still loves them, in an odd sort of way, and she therefore worries about them. Sometimes the missions were covered on the news, or the radio, and if she’s bored she might watch the coverage. Just so she can pretend that she’s there, too.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Swallowing the last of her salad, she picked up her plate and took it to the kitchen, dropping it into the sink and carefully picking up the record, slipping it back into its case and returning it back to its place. She traipsed down to the lounge room, stoking the fire and flicking the television set on. She flicked through the channels, until she found the one that was covering the mission. It was at a bank, some late night heist, and the Umbrella Academy were there to save the day. The camera panned around to the bank, just in time to see a set of knives go flying.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Diego.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And, we’re live at the bank robbery on sixth street,” the reporter was declaring. “The Umbrella Academy is here, and they are foiling the bad guys.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Vanya sighed, as she leant back in her chair, watching as one of the criminals was, assumingly drop kicked out of the bank door.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“For those of us just joining us, The Umbrella Academy are the super powered child team, who stop more bank robberies than the police department. All six of them were adopted by Reginald Hargreeves, after the freak pregnancies that took pla—.” The reporter continues, but Vanya had already flicked it off.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She hissed through her teeth as her gaze flitted towards the fireplace.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Reginald Hargreeves adopted seven of them. She was just not important enough, not special enough. She was just ordinary.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>They arrive in a flurry of footsteps, stomping up the staircase as Vanya peeks out of the lounge room door.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She smiles, nervously and meekly at them as they walk past, but they’re too lost in their own conversations to notice her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Luther and Diego lead them upstairs, arguing about who took out the most bad guys.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, Luther,” Diego was saying. “I got one of them, with only </span>
  <em>
    <span>one</span>
  </em>
  <span> knife.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, I took out three at once.” Luther retaliates, as he shoves his brother's shoulder.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eventually, they’ll get into bed, and Luther might put on a record, or go straight to sleep, depending on how much the mission wore him out. Diego would always practice throwing his knives, for at least a little while, as he stomped around his bedroom.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Allison is just behind them, pulling at a spot of blood, caught in her hair, scraping her fingernails through it, again and again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Later, she’d slip under her covers and flick through one of her magazines, and on normal non-mission nights, she might let Klaus braid her hair, or they might take turns painting each other’s nails with the cheap, flaky polish that comes free with Allison’s cheesy magazines.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Five’s behind her, mumbling something under his breath as he tugged at the stubborn zipper. He’d head to his bedroom, and read something, much too complicated for her to understand, or continue scrawling along his walls, hundreds and hundreds of maths problems.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben and Klaus brought up the back, Klaus tugging on Ben’s shoulder, practically dragging him up the stairs. Ben, as usual, was covered, head to toe, in blood. Klaus would probably drag him to the bedroom, before shutting the door, and depending on how he feels, wait outside, or head back to his room to dig out some drugs, or smuggled liquor. Ben would take a long shower, before spending the rest of the evening in his bedroom and like every post mission evening, he’d be subdued and anxious, stewing in his regret.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was kind of funny, in a twisted, not very funny at all, way. That she knows everything about them, but she doubted they’d be able to tell her anything about her other than the basic, “Vanya plays the violin”, “Vanya’s good at schoolwork” or the most obvious, “Vanya doesn’t have powers.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But, beside all this, beside the scathing looks and the hundreds of times she’s been ignored, she still cares about them, so with a resigned sigh she makes her way down to the kitchen.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Flicking on the light, she pulls out the loaf of bread that she knows her mum made earlier that morning. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s not like they’re going to eat, anyway, so she may as well feed them. She assumes missions are hard work, not that she’d ever done it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They have so many different spreads, but there are seven of them, and if you thought that you could feed seven children, and have them all happy, you’d better wake up from that dream. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She doesn’t really know exactly what they like, it’s not like she’s ever discussed sandwich toppings with them, but she makes the executive decision, of raspberry jam. It’s homemade, so you can’t go wrong, right?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She has to balance the six plates as she carefully makes her way up the stairs. Rather fittingly, Luther’s room is the closest to the staircase, Reginald must think he’s a genius, setting them all up in number order.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>She knocks on the door with her foot, trying not to unbalance any of the plates. There’s a “come in,” so she pushes the handle down with her elbow, and nudges the door open.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Luther’s face visibly falls as he realises who it is, but Vanya pretends not to notice. She places one of the plates on top of his dresser.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Just thought you’d be hungry.” She shrugs, meekly, before turning back towards the door.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Luther calls a quick, “thank you,” over her shoulder as she shuts the door behind her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s not anything she’s not used to, but it still hurts.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Unsurprisingly, Diego’s room is next. The doors still open a crack, so she puts her foot through the gap and kicks it open. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Diego looks up from where he’s crouched over a pile of knives, a polishing cloth in his hands. “What do you want, Vanya?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Vanya doesn’t flinch, despite the harshness of his words. “I brought you a sandwich.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Diego nods at her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Vanya blinks back at him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Diego turns back to his knives.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Vanya sighs, placing the plate on the floor and sliding it across the shiny floorboards. Diego doesn’t acknowledge her further, so she walks out, shutting the door behind her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, gee, thanks Vanya.” She murmurs, under her breath as she reaches Allison’s room.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Allison’s always a bit nicer to her, than Luther and Diego, numbers One and Two.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She knocks on the door, gently.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There’s a soft, “yeah, come in”, so she creaks the door open.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey.” She said, quietly as she placed the plate on the dresser, by the door. “I made you a snack.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Allison looked up from where she was cutting and pasting pictures from a magazine into her scrapbook. “Thanks, Van.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Vanya shrugged. “‘s alright.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Allison smiles at her. “Wanna see?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Vanya heart leaps. Of course she does.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She nods, slowly, crossing the room and peering over her shoulder.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Allison’s cut out different items of clothing, arranging them in outfit collections. She’s got different ones for each season, light coloured tee-shirts and flouncy skirts for summer, collared shirts matched with cardigans worn alongside dark skirts and stockings with pretty boots for autumn, heavy sweaters and jeans decorated with scarves and coats for winter and light pants and pale tee-shirts for spring. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wow.” Vanya says, and she means it, because Allison’s out a lot of time into it and it looks good. “You’re really talented.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Allison shrugs, but she looks proud. “It’s not much, really.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Vanya shakes her head. “No, no. They’re really pretty.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thanks.” Allison smiles, gently.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Vanya smiles back.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>The next door along is Number Four, Klaus.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s after a mission, so the chances of him being in any state to talk, and talk properly, was pretty low. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She knocks on the door, and there’s no answer, so she knocks again. There wasn’t any answer.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She pushes the door open, anyway.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Klaus?” She asks, and he’s there, sitting on his bed with his eyes closed. “Klaus?” She says again, after he doesn’t react.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His eyes snap open, and spin towards her, except they’re not focusing, not properly, anyway.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I made you a sandwich.” She explains, crossing the room and passing it to him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh.” He says, miserably. “Okay.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you...okay?” She asks, tentatively, after a few moments. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Huh?” Klaus asks, before shaking his head slightly. “No, I can’t say that, shut up.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Vanya only blinks back at him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He turns his attention away again, glancing out the window, and so Vanya stands up again, with a sigh, and leaves.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Five’s room is next, and he’d normally be the one to spend time with her, so she’s not too worried.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She doesn’t bother knocking, as his door is wide open, just steps inside.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As she predicted, he’s standing on the edge of his bed frame, scrawling along the wall with a black pen.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Dad’ll kill you if he sees you doing that.” She warns as she crosses the room to hand him his plate.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He starts, before turning around to face her. “Jesus, Vanya.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She shrugs, as he takes the plate.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What’s in this?” He asks, lifting up the top half and squinting at it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Jam.” Vanya says. “It’s raspberry.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He makes a face. “Next time, can I have peanut butter and marshmallows?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Five,” she says, looking disgusted, “that is foul! I’m not making that monstrosity.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Five shrugs, as he sits down on the bed. “Each to their own.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>She’s only got one plate left, so she slips into Ben’s room.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hi.” She says, softly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hi.” Ben says back, looking up at her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>If she had to order her siblings in order of how much they got along, Five would be first, closest followed by Ben. They kind of have a silent agreement that they spend time together. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They have it because they’re the last two numbers.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They have it because they’re the quietest.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <strike>
    <span>They have it because he hates his power, and she’d do anything to have one.</span>
  </strike>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They have it because… just because.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So she doesn't say anything more, only hands him his plate and sits in the chair beside him. He smiles at her, as he takes it and then turns back to his book. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They don't have to say anything more.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>And no one says anything, when they come back from missions, to find a sandwich sitting on the top of their dressers.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And no one says anything, when they find a peanut butter and marshmallow sandwich sitting on the kitchen bench, long after the only person in the house who ever ate them had disappeared.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Especially Vanya. Vanya doesn’t say much.</span>
</p>
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